


When Stiles acts like the Pack Mom (but he totally isn't)

by officerstilinskihale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blowjobs, Frottage, Hale Family Feels, I can't porn, I shall add more tags later, I think so anyway, Kidfic, Like, Love, M/M, Marriage, Masturbation, Oops, Pack Feels, Phone Sex, a little bit of angst, blowjobs by the jeep, but anyway, happiness, kind of?, sex outside, sorry for misleading anyone, sorry for spoiling it, there is a kid at the epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officerstilinskihale/pseuds/officerstilinskihale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>What if Derek is actually the pack mom and everyone just assumes Stiles does all the mothering for the pack?</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Or,</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>The 5 times Derek takes care of the pack and the one time Stiles takes care of him.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Stiles acts like the Pack Mom (but he totally isn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arithemarvelprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arithemarvelprincess/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to [arithemarvelprincess](http://arithemarvelprincess.tumblr.com/) because i owe her one (or two, or a million).
> 
>  **EDIT:** Also dedicated to the amazing, perfect [indecentdrawer](http://indecentdrawer.tumblr.com/) because she is beautiful and wonderful and the greatest (and by greatest i actually mean horrible) friend ever.  
>  i'm sorry i couldn't write you a proper fic man, i will do something amazing for you soon!
> 
> Also, so many thanks to [captainscruffywolf](http://captainscruffywolf.tumblr.com/) for being my awesome beta who is so beautiful but also weird and crazy, exactly the way i like 'em (this also turned out creepy, sorry).
> 
> While it is beta'd, all the mistakes (of which there are probably many) should be expected, please message me if you find any really obvious ones.
> 
> Jeff Davis owns everything great, except for the idea which was born in my head (why brain, why) and the dubious writing skill.
> 
> Enjoy! Constructive criticism always appreciated.

**1.**

When Stiles and Derek finally got their heads out of their asses and got together, the pack had a variety of different reactions, it was actually fairly amusing. Whenever Stiles thought about it, he remembered the day with fondness not just for Derek, but the pack as a whole. It was one of their better memories, considering this had no bloodshed (no violence at all, in fact, which, go Derek, you have officially earned the right to go and growl ‘I’m-the-alpha’ like some dominant wolf-dog-man-person!) and Scott was, as usual, his supportively awesome best friend.

The conversation had gone a little like this:

 **Derek:** Another pack meeting tomorrow, we’re going to need to go on multiple runs, see if we can find out what’s been messing up the runes on the eastern border. Anything else?  
Stiles stands up with a goofy grin on his face.  
Derek rolls his eyes and Jackson groans, though everyone else can tell there is a small part of him that views Stiles as his spastic little brother.  
 **Lydia:** Out with it Stiles, The Notebook is on tonight.  
Jackson groans again, legitimately this time.  
Everyone laughs.  
Stiles smiles beatifically at the pack then turns to Derek.  
 **Scott [muttering]:** Oh god, this is going to be bad.  
 **Stiles:** Friends, I would like to take this time to let everyone know that Derek and I are doing things that begin with the “fuh” sound. I’m sure Boyd will be more than happy to clarify those of you that are unable to understand _exactly_ what I mean. In fact, I’m positive he would be _ecstatic_ to spell out what this entitles, because Boyd is such a joyous and fun-loving person, isn’t that right, Boyd?  
Boyd turns his blank stare to Stiles who refuses to back down because his life is _awesome_.  
Lydia grabs Jackson.  
 **Lydia:** We’re out.  
Scott is confused.  
 **Scott:** I don’t get it.  
Allison giggles.  
The other betas begin to leave.  
 **Erica:** When you guys have kinky wolfed-out sex on the full moon, can I watch?  
 **Scott [shrieking]:** Oh, ew, goodbye!  
When the door shuts behind him, Stiles tackles Derek and sticks his tongue down Derek’s throat. He pulls back for a second and grins at his boyfriend.  
 **Stiles:** That went well.  
Derek smirks and shoves his hand into Stiles’ jeans.

So, all in all, Stiles would say that the pack took it pretty well.

Whilst Scott was happy for Stiles (bros for bros all the way! You see, Scott and Stiles’ friendship was a simple affair, if one of them got laid, the other one was happy, not counting the time Scott had attempted to sleep with Stiles’ cousin to make Allison jealous when they were in an off-stage of their relationship, that was a definite violation of the bro code. No, really! It was in Article seriously-dude-she’s-my-cousin-go-have-revenge-sex-with-someone-else), no one was as happy with this new arrangement than the betas and sometimes, they would show their affection and happiness by puppy piling in the living room with Stiles and Derek in the middle of them all.

This, unfortunately, was one of those days.

“Oh my god, not now,” Stiles complained, not even bothering to open his eyes from where he was sprawled on top of Derek.

“Get over yourself, you love it,” Erica said fondly, curling between their legs and resting her head on Stiles’ ass while Boyd threw an arm over them, pulling Isaac to crawl up behind him.

“We were going to have sex,” Stiles whined to Derek, his cheek resting on the smooth expanse of Derek’s forehead.

“Mmm, later,” Derek slurred, his voice muffled where his face was smushed into Stiles’ neck, “Wanna cover you in my scent. Make you smell like you’re mine. No one else, just me and you, together. Make you smell so good. Love it when you smell like mine.” Derek sounded drugged but that didn’t do anything to deter Stiles’ libido and he whined again.

It wasn’t his fault that Derek getting all possessive was his thing, okay?

Different strokes for different folks, yo.

He shifted forward slightly, whimpering as his cock twitched at the friction and began to harden.

“Stiles, no,” Isaac whined softly, half-asleep, his nose crinkling.

“If you guys go right now, I will make you pancakes,” Stiles offered, even though he himself sounded like he was a second away from passing out.

Oh, and the fact that he couldn’t make pancakes, but we’ll sort that one out when we get there.

It had been a long day at work, Stiles had to deal with a bunch of ~~seriously annoying and loud when they were screaming like idiots,~~ _crying_ 5 year-olds because Jerome, the class goldfish, had died.

When no one budged, he pleaded again, his voice turning desperate,

“Strawberries and whipped cream as well! None of that aerosol shit either, actual whipped cream. Come on guys, be a bro and help a bro out here; let me bone this hot hunk of Alpha. I literally needed him in me _yesterday_.”

“I fucked you yesterday,” Derek reminded him, blinking his eyes open blearily and yawning.

“That’s it, I’m gone,” Boyd said, dragging Isaac by the collar and pulling gently on Erica’s hair, “I smell anything on that mattress Stilinski, my fist is going through your computer after I show your father your stash of werewolf porn.”

“I should be freaking right now but I can’t think past the intense amounts of love flooding my brain right now and all dedicated to you,” Stiles mumbled, lifting his head up to start pressing kisses across Derek’s face.

“Pancakes in a few hours,” he promised, getting up with difficulty and pulling on Derek’s hand, giggling as they stumbled to Derek’s bedroom, shucking clothes on their way, “Man, I love sleepy sex.”

+++

Two hours later, Stiles is standing in front of the stove holding up a box of pancake batter and frowning, dressed in nothing but a pair of borrowed sweats while Derek traces the bruises littered around Stiles’ neck with his mouth.

“Hey, Der?” Stiles asked quietly, looking over his shoulder, coming nose-to-nose with Derek.

“Mmm?”

“Can you make pancakes?”

Derek’s hands freeze from where they had been pushing gently at one of the more obvious marks on Stiles’ hips.

“You promised the betas pancakes and you don’t even know how to make them?” Derek asked incredulously and Stiles scoffed.

“Of course I do,” he said, rolling his eyes and batting Derek’s hands away, “I just thought it’d be better if I got the strawberries from the farmer’s market so they’re fresh! Not to mention I need to buy the cream and then whip it.”

“Can you even whip cream?”

Stiles scoffed at him.

“Of course I can, I’m not an idiot.”

Derek just raised an eyebrow at him when Stiles turned around and Stiles slumped back against the counter, defeated. Fucking werewolf senses.

“I just wanted to have sex,” he mumbled, burying his face in Derek’s chest.

“I was exhausted, you could’ve waited a couple of hours,” Derek replied, his tone quiet and affectionate, relishing in how well Stiles’ body fit his.

“But sleepy sex is _awesome_! You love sleepy sex, I love sleepy sex, it’s a win-win! I mean, I love when you pounce and get all growly and make me come twice before fucking me so hard I black out but I like it when we’re just taking it slow, just barely moving and kissing a lot.”

Derek pressed his lips against Stiles’ temple and patted his hip gently.

“Go buy the strawberries and the cream. We’ll whip it together when you get back and I’ll cook the pancakes tomorrow.”

“You are the best,” Stiles breathed, nipping Derek on the edge of his jaw before quickly pressing a kiss to the same spot and hightailing it to his Jeep.

“Put a shirt on!” Derek yelled out after him, shaking his head fondly as he heard Stiles yell back;

“THE BEST!”

+++

“These pancakes are _amazing_ Stiles,” Isaac said, his eyes wide as he stared at the fluffy, golden-brown pieces of perfection sitting innocently on his plate.

“Good on ya, mum,” Erica cocked her head, twirling her fork in the air and Stiles’ jaw dropped.

“Did you just call me your _mother_?” he gasped in outrage, turning around to glare at Derek as if this was his entire fault and Derek shrugged.

“You’re the pack mom,” Boyd said firmly, “you seem like the type to do all the mom things. Only moms can make pancakes.”

Stiles opened his mouth to correct the betas and inform them that _no_ , he did not make the pancakes, Derek did. In fact, Derek did most of the work, whipping the cream, making the pancakes and slicing up the strawberries. The only thing Stiles did was sit around and look pretty. Oh, and set the table, but that didn’t count.

Everyone just assumed that because Stiles did all the cooking in the Stilinski household, he was the perfect housewi— _husband_ , but Stiles would _never_ be a housewife—he wasn’t at all skilled in anything domestic. He and his dad used to eat takeout from the organic vegetarian place on Harper Street more often than not and Stiles managed to ruin batches of laundry at least twice a week until his dad absolved him of all laundry duties in exchange for taking care of the mowing of the lawn and fixing the squeaky hinge of the backdoor.

“Yeah, you’re the pack mom,” Derek cut in before he could say anything and Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.

“Daddy agrees, it must be true then,” Erica teased, a radiant smile stretching across her face, “It feels right.”

That was the end of everything.

**2.**

“Hey Stiles, could you please talk to Isaac?” Scott whined one afternoon two weeks later, flopping onto the bed and spreading his limbs out comfortably, confident that Derek was at work and wouldn’t be able to yell at him for ‘getting his scent on their bed’.

“You might not want to do that,” Stiles warned him just as Scott buried his face in the pillows. He burst out laughing when Scott flinched violently, his body bucking so hard he toppled off the bed and lay on the floor, his face frozen in an expression of comical horror.

“Is that…” Scott trailed off, his eyes wide. Stiles smirked at him and nodded.

“Eau de Sterek, freshly made only about, eight hours ago?”

Scott wrinkled his nose.

“That’s disgusting Stiles and I’m not even touching that totally made up word. What even is a Sterek? Mashing your names together is _so lame_ , you’re not Brangelina,” Scott said, getting up and migrating to the corner of the room furthest from the bed, scowling when Stiles shrugged, “Anyway, you need to talk to Isaac.”

“What? Why?” Stiles asked, suddenly worried, “Did something happen to him? Jesus Scott, why didn’t he tell Derek anything?”

“Nah, man stop freaking out it’s not that bad. He’s just worried. He called me six times last night because he’s got his first surgery in two days and he’s not sure if he can do it, which is stupid because he’s a really good doctor,” Scott told him before his eyes widened pleadingly and his voice turned whiny, “Stiles you _have_ to go and calm him down. I can’t deal with the excess stress. Deaton’s already threatened to sack me twice because I was freaking out about Allison and the baby.”

Stiles waved a hand at Scott dismissively when he began to hyperventilate in panic.

“Allison will be okay Scott, she’s not going to give birth while on the toilet. I promise you the baby will not be swimming in toilet water.”

“ _That can happen_?” Scott asked, horrified and Stiles rolled his eyes, kicking Scott out of the house.

+++

“Hey Dr. Lahey,” Stiles grinned as he saw Isaac appear from the doctor’s lounge. Isaac smiled weakly at him before consulting the clipboard he was holding and ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey Stiles,” he mumbled, stepping closer so he could discreetly bump up into Stiles because he, like every other beta of Derek’s, was still an adorable puppy who found it absolutely necessary to scent-mark every member of their pack every ten seconds, “Do you mind walking this way? I need to check if one of the nurses administered the right dosage for one of my favorite patients.”

Isaac looked pretty worn out, even for a werewolf. Although there were no obvious physical signs of stress or fatigue, Stiles had seen Isaac single-handedly take down four werewolves on his own in the span of fifteen minutes and knew what he looked like when he was dead on his feet.

“Playing favorites, eh?” Stiles teased, trying to get him to lighten up, “I don’t think that’s an appropriate thing for a doctor to be doing.”

When Isaac barely responded, Stiles bit his lip. He was never good at this whole comforting thing. His dad used to say that Stilinski men only had three emotions: happy, sad and hungry (Stiles assumed the fourth one was horny, but his dad never mentioned that because _boundaries_ ). His dad was awful at the emotions talk and Stiles had definitely not inherited his mother’s empathy. In fact, it was Derek who insisted on talking about their _feelings_ when they had first started seeing each other and Stiles had no idea why everyone assumed that just because he talked a lot he would be good at articulating anything remotely coherent when it came to this sort of stuff.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, racking his brain for ideas about how to deal with situations like this. Surely he’d talked Scott down from numerous Allison-induced freak-outs to effectively deal with this right?

 _Wrong_.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Isaac turned to Stiles, his baby blue eyes wide in panic.

“Stiles, I’ll be cutting someone open in less than 48 hours!” he whispered furiously, barely flinching as various people bumped into him, hurrying to and fro in the narrow corridor, “This guy, he lost his wife last year and he’s got two kids; a girl who’s 6 and a little boy who’s 4. He’s been caring for these kids by himself since then because he’s got no other family. There are so many things that can go wrong, Stiles and if I accidentally give him side effects that will render him unable to care for those kids I would never forgive myself. Not to mention the fact that I could _kill_ him.”

Physically biting his tongue to refrain himself from blurting out “well, you’ve killed people before, is it really that big a deal?” because a) he wasn’t actually that insensitive and b) he wasn’t an _actual_ idiot, Stiles realized two things:

One, he actually had a brain-to-mouth filter, which, yay! Take that, Derek! And two, he didn’t know how to talk Isaac into calming down. In fact, he was sure that anything that came out of his mouth would make things worse.

Stiles sighed. He’d have to call Derek and reserve the gloating about his filter at a much later and more appropriate time (preferably when they had no clothes on and none of the puppies were worried out about manslaughter).

“Isaac,” Stiles said, making sure his voice was calm and soothing, even as his heart rate was picking up, “here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go check on your patient, and then you’re going to take a much-needed break and calm down okay? Shall I call one of the other betas or will I be enough to snuggle you into submission?”

Shaking his whole body out of its temporary stupor, Isaac visibly steeled himself before nodding firmly.

“Just you, I’ll be back in a few.”

“Great!” Stiles said, his voice flooding with relief, waving Isaac off as the curly-haired beta began walking purposefully down the hall, “I’ll just pop into the bathroom real quick, I’ll be waiting here for you before you know it!”

The minute Isaac rounded the corner; Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed Derek.

“Is this important?” Derek asked, picking up after the second ring.

Stiles rubbed his eyes tiredly and let out a yawn. You’d think that kids being off on summer break meant teachers got a vacation as well but noooo, some maniac had to go and invent summer school and Stiles had to come into work everyday but Sunday for the next six weeks. Even just thinking about it made him feel exhausted and they hadn’t even started the stupid program yet.

“Isaac is freaking out about surgery and I don’t know how to calm him down!” Stiles whispered into the receiver as softly as he could, unsure if Isaac was still able to hear him, “He’s been doing so well Derek, I don’t want anything to happen just because he was nervous. And for a valid reason as well! Hell, I don’t think I would be able to survive med school at all, never mind specializing in freaking transplants! I’m not good at this stuff, I’m probably going to make him feel worse and then he’ll end up wolfing out. And then what if he ends up killing the guy and his children are going to be stuck in the foster care system which we both know for a fact is pretty much completely inefficient and super shit. Then what if these kids get separated and maybe they won’t even see each other for the rest of their lives and it’ll all be my fault! Oh my god, why am I even here, seriously how did Scott ever think this was a good idea, I’m going to be sent to prison and my dad will be so disap—“

“Stiles,” Derek said, his smooth voice cutting through Stiles’ increasingly panicked ramble like a knife through butter and Stiles inhaled sharply, the knot in his chest loosening slightly, “you’ll be fine. All you have to do is to tell Isaac not to freak out. Keep calm, and remember his anchor. Tell him to breathe through the process and you need to remind him that he is _good_ at what he does. He’s smart and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Make sure he knows that we all have faith in him and the pack _will_ be with him, even if we might not be there physically. Touch him, remind him to be well rested, I’ll have a couple of the others come down and make sure he’s not sleeping by himself tonight and the day after.”

Taking a deep breath, Stiles nodded to himself and sighed, the tension ebbing out of his muscles as he sank down onto one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs hospitals seemed to love.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, after a moment of silence, “I’ve never been good at this kind of stuff, and he really needs someone right now.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit Stiles,” Derek tells him gently, “the only reason I knew what to say was because Isaac lived with me for a couple of years. I know what he likes and I know what he needs sometimes. You’re good at dealing with me and with Scott and with your dad, you just need some time to get used to the way other people are.”

“I’ve known him for years Derek,” Stiles complained plaintively and he could hear the smile in Derek’s voice when he replied,

“Well if you weren’t good at this, you wouldn’t be teaching kindergarteners. Trust me, you’ll be okay. I have to go, but I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Stiles said back, his own face splitting in a smile and he hung up the phone just as Isaac walked back into his line of sight.

“Alright Stilinski,” Stiles muttered to himself, standing back up and rubbing his hands together, “let’s do this.”

+++

“Do you think he’s okay?” Stiles asked Derek, his hand clutching Derek’s arm anxiously. He had gotten the day off, much like all the other betas, wanting to support Isaac and they were all currently huddled in the waiting room. Twice, various hospital staff had asked them whether they were waiting for service or visiting a patient and had given them identical judging expressions when Derek said they were waiting for a doctor to finish up his surgery.

“He’s fine, he’s calm, heartbeat steady. He’s doing really well,” Erica spoke up, her cheek resting on Boyd’s shoulder, their fingers entwined between them, “whatever you told him seemed to have worked Stiles.”

“Oh,” Stiles blushed, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes even as the alpha shifted so they were slotted more comfortably together, “it was nothing.”

Because it really had been nothing. Stiles had merely parroted back to Isaac what Derek had told him and it had worked like a charm.

“How long do these things usually take?” Jackson whined, checking his watch _again_ and Lydia clucked her disapproval.

“Seriously Jackson?”

“I have things to do,” he muttered, suitably chastised, “It’s not that I don’t want to be here for him, it’s just—Greenberg’s breathing down my neck. I’ve rescheduled this meeting far too many times already.”

“Whose fault is that?” Lydia snapped back, though her voice was devoid of any real venom.

“Well, the times I cancelled were when The Notebook was on so technically…” Jackson trailed off when Lydia glared at him and the rest of the pack laughed, easing a bit of the nerves Stiles was having trouble restraining.

Jackson had opened Whittemore, Martin & Greenberg Legal Services three years ago and they had been incredibly successful, garnering clients from all over California and, on one unusual occasion, a Texan shapeshifter who had been pinned as the prime suspect for a murder in Brazil. The contacts they made, supernatural and otherwise, were beneficial to the pack and everyone was glad Jackson found a job that fit his… ~~arrogant and douchey~~ strong personality.

“He’s finishing up,” Derek rumbled, the vibrations from his chest soothing Stiles more than any words could, “he’s fine.”

He turned to press a kiss to Stiles’ temple and detangled himself, shaking his head at Stiles’ worried look.

Over the years, they had perfected the art of wordless communication, and though Stiles could see that something was bothering him, Derek tilted his head almost imperceptibly and Stiles let him go, confident that Derek would tell him when he was comfortable.

“Hey,” Erica sidled up to him when Derek was out of earshot and rested her hand on his nape, the touch reassuring and familiar, “you guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, smiling at her minutely before resting his head on her shoulder, “we’re perfect.”

When Isaac walked out of the room ten minutes later to the pack smiling proudly at him, Derek had already returned and had his arms wrapped around Stiles, who leant back against his broad chest, savoring the warmth radiating from Derek’s body and he couldn’t help but think how perfect it all really was.

**3.**

“What the fuck is this?” Stiles snapped angrily, nearly tripping over the mountain of… were those _clothes_ blocking his doorway?

“Derek?” he called out tentatively, “the bestiary didn’t say anything about a clothes-losing monster did it? I mean, I pretty much memorized the thing but I don’t assume to know everything.” It was a quarter past five and usually Derek was already home, and Stiles was used to walking into a spotless house (Derek was a bit of a neat freak, which was surprising, considering his less-than-stellar accommodations when Stiles had first met him) and a hot partner ready to massage all the tension away from Stiles’ shoulders. No one really understood how difficult it was to become a teacher; you had to deal with immense amounts of paperwork, not to mention whiny children that Stiles had to keep from swallowing glue during the school year and the delinquent, hormonal teenagers he had to survive throughout the summer. It was a constant source of amusement for Scott; Stiles Stilinski, the crazy, spastic boy who would face werewolves and other supernatural beasties without so much as a second thought and yet was terrified of snotty kids about the height of his hip.

When there was no answer, Stiles laughed nervously, navigating his way through to the kitchen, where he found a note scrawled hastily in Derek’s writing on the countertop.

_Stiles,_  
 _A last minute client showed up. I’ll be stuck in the office ‘till late._  
 _Some of the betas dropped off their laundry, could you please deal with it and wash them?_  
 _Love you._  
 _Derek_

Stiles peered his head out of the kitchen, flinching when he saw how much clothes there were. Quickly pulling his phone out, he shot Derek a text, walking back to the living room and flopping down onto the couch.

 **Stiles:** you seriously trusting me with the laundry?  
 **Derek:** all the instructions are there, just separate the whites from the darks you’ll be fine.  
 **Stiles:** you sure? I’m about 101% sure this is a bad idea  
 **Derek:** please

Stiles sighed. What could he say to that, really?

Honestly, it couldn’t be that hard. He’d managed it before, back when he’d been living with his dad, even if he did have a 50% fail rate. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact he hadn’t done it in years. But that didn’t matter. At least, Stiles didn’t think it did. Doing the laundry was one of those skills that you never forgot, wasn’t it? Like riding a bicycle.

Not that he could ride a bicycle.

That wasn’t a helpful thought.

But again, that didn’t matter, he could do this. His brain was just being an ass. If he could single-handedly take down an Alpha pack, laundry should be a piece of cake (and by single-handedly he meant looking appetizing and acting like bait to lure them where the pack could take them down one by one). That being said, _laundry_. Easy. Separate whites from darks, put the load in, press the start button. He was good to go. It was easy as pie.

He couldn’t make pie, though.

Sometimes, his brain really was a dick.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles decided to mentally bribe himself with the promise of a grilled cheese sandwich when he finished and sat down in front of the piles of clothes with a huff.

Fifteen minutes in, he was staring longingly at the kitchen, forlornly holding a purple silk thong Stiles _hoped_ belonged to Erica. He couldn’t be sure though, werewolves were kinky motherfuckers and Stiles knew for a fact Derek had more than a few pairs of ladies’ lingerie strategically hidden in the loose floorboard in the closet.

Stiles groaned as he felt himself beginning to harden because now he was hungry, horny _and_ he still had to sort out the rest of the fucking laundry.

New plan.

Laundry, jerk off, sandwich. If he did it quick enough, he’d be ready for round two when Derek got home.

Finally sorting the clothes into two neat (although ‘neat’ really wasn’t an objective observation) piles, he cradled one of them in his arms and shoved it into the washing machine before stepping back to read the instruction panel.

He was stumped.

Who even _needed_ all those settings? Stiles struggled with the washing machine back in his dad’s house and that didn’t even have half the buttons on this one. Biting his lip, he made an aborted move towards his phone to ask Derek for help when his eye fell onto a bit of lacey detail on one of Lydia’s tops, his brain flying almost immediately to the _amazing_ feel of satin sliding across hot skin and had to bite back a groan.

ADD, man, it’s a serious problem.

Pressing the button that seemed the most innocent among the lot, he added the soap ( ~~not caring if~~ hoping it was in the right place), shut the door and legged it to the bedroom.

He had just wriggled out of his work pants and was getting comfortable on the bed, a pair of red satin panties in hand, when his phone rang. He groaned, unfortunately not in the sexy way, and answered the call without checking the caller ID.

“What?”

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was worried and Stiles perked up slightly. This could work.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his voice a little lower than usual, “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Oh, yeah that’s okay,” Derek said, a little absently and Stiles began to shimmy out of his boxer-briefs, stomach flip-flopping at the sound of Derek’s voice, which always sounded huskier when he was tired, “I was just checking up on you.”

Stiles made a noncommittal noise and ran the smooth satin along the inside of his thigh and bit the inside of his cheek as his dick twitched.

“Did you manage to get the laundry done?”

“I sorted it out and put the first load in,” Stiles managed out, his breath starting to come out in little huffs as he got the silky softness wrapped around his hardening length and slid up slowly, “mmm.”

“Are you jerking off right now, Stiles?” Derek hissed, his voice a little more than a furious whisper, “Really?”

“God I couldn’t help it,” Stiles whimpered as he reached full hardness, rubbing his cloth-covered thumb over the slit and moaning as beads of pre-cum pooled at the tip, dampening the fabric while his nimble fingers did a few cursory passes over the head, “I saw the lace and the silk and thought of you.”

Derek growled at him and stayed silent.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Guess he needed to work a little harder.

“I thought about how pretty you look, jacking yourself off for me with these silky, satiny, whatever-the-fuck-they’re-called shit,” he let out a breathless little laugh at the hitch in Derek’s breath, “or when you wear them. I love when you wear them in public when we go out for dinner and you get all embarrassed but you do it for me anyway, and I can’t help but pull you into the bathroom so I can suck you off and you have to try so hard to keep your control, trying not to wolf-out or make too much noise. S’cause I can’t wait until we get home. Knowing that underneath your jeans, or your fucking suit pants you’re ruining a pair of ladies’ underwear because you’re always already hard, and fucking leaking too, so by the time I go down on you, the whole front of them is ruined.”

“Stiles, I’m at work,” Derek said sternly, although Stiles knew he was probably just trying to convince himself it was not okay to whip his dick out under his office table.

God, that would be hot though.

Next time. There would be a next time.

That thought was enough to have him reaching for the lube and slicking his fingers, hips rolling upwards into his tight grip. He reached behind him, circling his hole lightly before pushing the tip inside and was suddenly torn between grinding down onto his finger and pushing upwards into the perfect pressure around his dick.

“Well, you could always just listen to come?” he said and snickered over the sound of Derek’s snarl, “Yeah, yeah I know. You’ll punish me when you get home, tie me up and don’t let me come later blahblahblah. Well, hey, at least I get to come now while you’re stuck in the office, _really_ wanting to get the both of us off, but you can’t. You really need to be more creative and make up new ways to get me to stop teasing you like this.”

“That’s not the only thing I’m going to do,” Derek said lowly and Stiles sucked in a breath, grinning triumphantly as he started fucking himself with his finger, trying to get a rhythm going, “I’m going to hold you down and make it _hurt_. I’ll cuff you to the headboard and shut you up by fucking your mouth, hard and fast. Once I’ve come down your throat, I’ll flip you round and rim you without touching your cock until you’ll be screaming my name. I’m make sure you’ll be begging me to touch you, your voice hoarse and raw. I’m going to rim you until you’re sobbing, and _still_ I won’t touch you.”

Stiles could hear the smirk in Derek’s voice as he gasped, sliding another finger inside himself. But right now, listening to the absolute filth coming out of Derek’s mouth, it wasn’t enough. He knew he should’ve gotten one of the many dildos in their possession but how was he supposed to know his one-on-one time was going to involve into phone sex? He whined as he slipped a third finger in, trying to crook them _just so_ and get to his prostate but he didn’t have the right angle to reach it.

“Derek,” he panted, his hand picking up speed, “please.”

“And when you’ve finally screamed yourself hoarse. I’ll finally fuck you, and I won’t be gentle about it. I’ll pound into you so hard; you’ll be feeling me inside you for days. You’ll go to work sore and you’ll have to face those kids and teach them about math, or science, or hell, imagine what they would think when you try to teach them about safe sex, when you yourself _always_ let me come inside you and cover your insides with my seed. Imagine if they knew, Stiles,” Derek was smiling now, even as Stiles could hear him struggling to maintain a semblance of control. Stiles was teetering on the edge, not even trying to hold back the groans that were spilling out of his mouth with every hitch of his hips, forward into his fist and each grind back down onto his fingers and every dirty ~~threat~~ promise that Derek spat out,

“Imagine if they knew that you used to beg me to be fucked on the full moon, that you still do, even when you know that’s when I’m not always sure if I can control myself enough not to hurt you. And, when I told you that, you just wanted it more. You can deny it all you want, but I could _smell_ you getting harder. And god, your fucking scent, Stiles. The smell of you, when you’re _begging_ me to knot you. You always smell perfect Stiles, but when you’re howling while I’m locked inside you, painting your insides with my come, fuck, you’re more of a wolf than I am sometimes. Imagine if anyone knew how much of you slut you are, for me, for my _knot_. You love how it stretches you out, don’t you?” at this, Stiles let out another loud whimper and Derek chuckled, low and dirty, “I know how annoyed you get because your fingers never fill you up enough.”

“ _Derek_ , I’m so close.”

“Fuck Stiles, the way you moan my name,” Derek groaned out and that sound, the thought of Derek, stuck in his office, having to deal with clients but wanting nothing more than to get his ass back home and get in Stiles made his hips twitch. The unexpected movement shoved Stiles’ fingers a little further than they’d been and he felt the pad of his forefinger brush _just_ against his prostate and that was the final push that had him careening over the edge.

Stiles _keened_ , hips arching off the bed and his spine curved as his cock pulsed out wet stripes of come. It took a few minutes before Stiles could properly focus his vision again, and after a few panting breaths, remembered Derek still on the phone.

“Derek?” he asking, grabbing the phone from where he had dropped it onto the bed and winced at the amount of clean-up he was going to do, especially the panties, which were now covered in come. Too bad he had already put a load in.

Oh, _shit_ , the laundry. Wasn’t he supposed to check it every ten minutes or something?

“Fuck, Derek I gotta go, sex you tonight,” he rushed out before hanging up, grabbing a clean pair of sweats and a towel to wipe the jizz off his chest, managing to successfully do both as he rushed downstairs to the laundry room. Even before he got there, he knew something was horribly wrong. The door to the laundry had been left ajar and he could see wisps of smoke slowly but steadily streaming out the door and into the rest of the house. What happened to the fire alarm?

Stiles winced as he remembered they had it disconnected a couple nights ago, their 7th anniversary. Well, this was going to be an awkward phone call.

Trudging slowly back upstairs after making sure nothing was actually _burning_ burning; Stiles grabbed his phone and speed-dialed his father.

“Heeeeey dad,” he said and his dad sighed.

“What now?”

“I was just calling to say hi!” Stiles shot back, offended, “Can’t I do that anymore? _Is nothing sacred_?”

“You haven’t ‘just called me to say hi’ in years, what did you do?”

“Okay, well Derek had a last minute client, right? And I got home today, and work was _exhausting_ today dad, I totally have an excuse. I mean, how difficult is it for kids to just sit down and not talk for a couple of hours? Seriously, it’s like they _want_ to stay in the same grade forever! And the fidgeting, god dad, even if they were quiet, the amount of times they _move_ , it’s so frustrating, seriously how hard can it be really? I don’t under—“

“I don’t know Stiles, considering you had trouble keeping still and/or quiet growing up, I’d say it was pretty difficult,” his dad cut in and chuckled when Stiles sputtered in outrage, “I’d apologize but—“

“You’re not sorry, yeah I get it,” Stiles rolled his eyes, though his voice came out more fond than bothered, “I miss you dad.”

“You say that like you don’t come to see me at least once a week.”

“Still, it’s different now you know.”

“Yeah, trust me, I know,” his dad replied and Stiles felt something warm up in his belly until his dad followed up with, “it’s a lot better in the house now, by myself.”

“If I hadn’t set the laundry on fire and needed you to not get the department to freak out, I would’ve regretted this phone call so much,” Stiles sniffed haughtily, choosing to be the better man and not respond to that super aggravating and (somewhat) uncalled for comment.

“ _You what_?”

Yup, there it was, exactly what he’d been waiting for.

+++

By the time the Camaro pulled up, Stiles was sitting patiently on the doorstep, smiling serenely as he stared out onto the road.

Derek stepped out of the car after he parked and took a step towards Stiles warily. Stiles waited him out and then raised his hands placatingly when Derek’s nose twitched.

“I can explain,” he started off and then stopped when Derek started laughing.

Laughing.

At him.

Rude.

He walked up to Stiles before settling down next to him and pulling him close to drop a kiss on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, completely ignoring Stiles’ petulant pout. When Stiles nodded against him, the muscles in Derek’s body relaxed minutely and Stiles felt a burst of affection for him when he realized that despite the laughter, Derek had still been really worried for him, even if it was only on a subconscious level.

“I’m still not sure what happened,” Stiles muttered, his fingers entwining with Derek’s and he pressed a kiss to their joined knuckles before continuing on, “something about one of the clothes getting caught on the corner of the thing? I don’t even know. But technically, it wasn’t my fault?”

Derek just smiled and pressed his lips against Stiles’ temple, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and mahogany under all the hormones, leftover arousal and the cloying smell of semen.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered, turning to look him in the eye.

“Hi.”

“You wanna tell me what’s been going on?” he said and Derek shook his head.

“M’fine,” he told him. It was partly true anyway. Derek was fine because Stiles was okay, he was safe in Derek’s arms and that’s all he wanted.

“That you are,” Stiles drawled, earning a short grin and an eye roll from Derek, “but something’s bothering you.”

“Not now, I’ll tell you soon,” Derek promised, leaning forward to peck Stiles on the mouth.

“Okay,” Stiles conceded, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s stubble and squeezing his hand, “just remember I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Nodding, Derek waited until Stiles had turned back around before muttering so softly Stiles almost missed it,

“That’s why I’ll always be okay.”

Stiles’ only answer was to hold Derek’s hand tightly, because he was never letting go.

**4.**

After the laundry debacle, which Derek took the fall for (Stiles _still_ didn’t get that); the betas started eyeing the two of them a little bit more warily.

“So, why did Derek do the laundry that one time? That’s what I don’t understand,” Erica asked, cornering Stiles in the kitchen, where he was… fuck if he knew what he was doing in there.

“Beers, Stiles, beers,” Scott called out, and Stiles could _hear_ the eye roll, even without the ‘awesome’ werewolf senses.

Right.

Beer.

Pulling open the fridge, Stiles pulled out a six-pack, did a mental head count of the people sitting in his living room and pulled out two more, handing one pack to Erica, who scoffed and grabbed all three.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, leaning across the doorway, her, _ahem_ , lovely assets barring his way.

Stiles shrugged and grabbed a bowl of corn chips and popcorn, saying,

“It just happened that way I guess. Circumstances.”

Erica narrowed her eyes at him and sniffed suspiciously.

“I know you’re lying and I don’t wanna know how you figured out how to hide a lie from a werewolf. It must suck for Derek, not being able to tell whether you’re lying when you say you wanna top.”

“We’re all good with switching,” Stiles told her, much to Scott’s disgust, if his pained groan was anything to go by and he laughed when he saw Erica’s eyes sparkle in interest, “actually, if you ask him very nicely, Derek’ll tell you _exactly_ what happened when the laundry caught fire.”

Pushing past Erica, Stiles let out a giggle when Derek’s eyes flashed and he let out a warning growl.

“This just shows that we shouldn’t trust Derek with anything domestic,” Scott pointed out, “because he’s a butt.”

“Hey, play nice,” Stiles scolded and he flashed a quick grin at the room before following that up with, “he’s not _just_ a butt, he’s a _very attractive_ butt.”

“Jesus Christ, Stilinski, put the movie in before I smother myself to death,” Jackson groused and Stiles chuckled to himself before slipping in Iron Man 3 because, let’s face it, _Iron Man_ , guys. Come on.

Settling back into the loveseat, curled around Derek, they watched the opening credits in silence before Isaac said in a hushed whisper,

“Hey Stiles?”

“Yeah, what?’ he replied, not bothering to lower his voice and was met with a chorus of voices begging him to shush and one ‘ _Stiles shut the fuck up_ ’, which, rude, Jackson.

“Could you add blueberry PopTarts to the grocery list this week?”

“Huh?”

“You know, when you go shopping for the groceries.”

“I don’t—ouch!” Stiles’ voice rose when Derek squeezed his thigh where his hand had been resting and he whipped around to glare at him before understanding washed over his features.

“ _Oh_ , right, yeah no sure, that’s okay.”

The rest of the pack looked at him a bit strangely and he stuck his tongue out at them before turning back to the movie.

It’s not like them giving him weird looks were anything new.

Also, again, Iron Man. _Iron Man_. Man of Iron.

Oh, and Robert Downey Jr. is a total DILF.

“Watch the movie guys, you’re missing it!”

“Seeing as you’ve explained the plot to us like six times and watched the movie yourself _with_ running commentary upwards of ten times, I’m sure we’re good,” Scott said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t be a smartass, Scott.”

“Don’t worry Stilinski, that would be pretty difficult for McCall because he would have to be smart for that to happen,” Jackson drawled and the pack quickly moved out of the way when Scott flew over from his seat to tackle Jackson into the ground.

Ah, just like old times.

+++

“Get up,” Derek said, nudging Stiles awake the next morning.

“Mmhhmm,” Stiles mumbled back, licking his dry lips before turning around without opening his eyes.

“Stiles come on,” Derek’s voice was amused and Stiles let out a little displeased whine.

“S’not time to get up yet,” he muttered, his voice muffled from where his face was pressed into his pillow.

“It’s ten o’clock,” Derek said dryly, tugging him up into a sitting position, “If this was a workday, you’d have already overslept.”

Stiles leant into Derek’s space and started snuffling at his neck lightly, brushing a kiss to his cheek before burying his nose into the groove where Derek's neck met his shoulder and inhaling. It was such a _wolfish_ move, Derek was a little taken aback. He ran his hand through Stiles’ hair before ducking down to press his lips against Stiles’ for a brief moment.

“Let’s go get the groceries,” he said, getting up off the bed, smiling when Stiles rubbed his eyes and yawned sleepily. Stiles met his gaze and Derek's mouth quirked at the corner when Stiles crinkled his nose, eyeing Derek blearily.

“’S a Saturday,” he said plaintively, looking up at Derek beseechingly, “Getting up before 12 on a Saturday should be outlawed. I can’t believe you always get up early on a _Saturday_ to buy _groceries_.”

At this, Derek chuckled and walked over to the dresser to grab some sweats, pulling them over his boxer-briefs.

“It won’t be long,” Derek reassured him, “an hour tops. Then we can get brunch at the diner.”

Stiles poked his head out from where he had flopped back facedown onto the bed and hidden under the blankets. He stared at Derek suspiciously before tilting his head and considering him for a long moment.

“Can we get pie?”

Derek smirked.

He got this.

+++

“How is this so difficult?” Stiles complained, lugging the basket of vegetables as he trailed behind Derek. Stiles had been constantly yawning since they got out of the Camaro and Derek had done most everything, navigating the store with perfect ease.

“You’re carrying a _basket_ ,” Derek told him, not even turning to look at him as he compared two different artichokes, “you’re not even using brainpower.”

“Your face isn’t using brainpower,” Stiles shot back, glaring angrily at the vegetable rack when Derek smirked at his weak comeback, “I don’t even understand what the difference is between those two freaking broccolis!”

“These are artichokes,” Derek snorted, shaking his head and dropping one of them into the basket Stiles had placed on the floor, “how did you manage to feed your dad while you were growing up?”

Stiles blushed, looking away.

“We ate out most nights,” he mumbled and picked up the basket again when Derek started to walk away into the meat aisle.

“This is heavy,” he grumbled, shifting his weight to his other foot as his boyfriend gazed over the selection with a critical eye, “ _Derek_.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek took the basket from him and raised an eyebrow.

“Better, princess?”

Stiles scowled at him and patted Derek's pockets, ignoring the way his shoulders shook, which meant he was probably laughing at Stiles.

“Where is the damn list?” he growled, “the faster we get this done, the sooner we can eat and then go back to bed.”

“There is no list,” Derek told him, grabbing Stiles by the hips and pulling him flush against him, “I just remember what we need.”

“Well that’s not very efficient is it?” Stiles snapped, still a bit disgruntled even as he wrapped his arms around Derek's waist.

“It is though, and I don’t waste paper this way,” Derek said, bringing his fingers under Stiles’ chin and tilting his head up to look him in the eye, “what’s wrong?”

“M’tired,” Stiles said, not meeting his gaze and Derek sighed, placing the basket down on the ground and hugging Stiles to him.

“Not entirely the truth.”

“It’s just…”

“Just?” Derek prompted encouragingly, rubbing a broad hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades and easing the tension out of the muscle there.

“The pack just thinks I’m capable of taking care of them and all, when really, you’re the one doing anything remotely motherly and it’s like, supremely stupid, because just because I’m smaller doesn’t mean I’m going to be the nurturing one or the girly one, and I know that’s being freaking gender stereotypical or whatever, it’s just, I’m not…” Stiles trailed off as his words failed him and he growled in frustration, “I’m nothing like a mom okay? What if when we have kids I’ll be a horrible parent because I don’t know how to do any of this? It’s stupid, I know, it’s just I didn’t have a mother growing up, I don’t know what it’s like and I don’t want to end up like some deadbeat dad or someone who isn’t there for their kid or whatever.”

There was silence for a few moments and Stiles stiffened as his brain rewound what he just said and he took a few steps away from Derek, backtracking quickly.

“I mean, if you want kids. It’s cool if you don’t, I was just saying.”

“Hey,” Derek murmured quietly, snagging Stiles’ arm and tugging him back in, his hands coming to rest on Stiles’ hips, “I want kids, okay? I want kids with you, I just wasn’t sure if you wanted them. Besides, I don’t think you have to be either a mom or a dad; you can be a mixture of both. It’s not so black and white, especially for same-sex couples. It’s okay.”

“It’s just, whenever the betas assume I’m the mom, you never correct them even though you’re the one who does all of it. You clean, you cook, you can calm them down… You do the fucking groceries, Derek. What the fuck do I do?” Stiles snapped out self-deprecatingly and Derek's hands tightened on his hips.

“You make me happy, okay?” he said fiercely, his eyes boring into Stiles’, “That’s all I care about. You’re perfect, Stiles. I don’t need someone who can make a fucking seven-layer dip and whatever. I _like_ being able to do stuff for you. If I could help it, I wouldn’t even let you work because you’re my mate, Stiles. I love you and I just want you happy all the time. If I could get away with it, you wouldn’t do anything ever because it’s my job to care for you and it’s a job I will _never_ get tired of.”

There was a pause and Stiles felt his heart clench and he lifted his hands to grip Derek's biceps.

“You’re it for me, okay? I don’t care if you never do anything ever again, I love you and _nothing_ can change that,” Derek said quietly and Stiles felt his eyes grow hot and he nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Good,” Derek said, releasing his hold on Stiles and leaning down to catch Stiles’ lips in a brief kiss before pulling away and picking up the basket, “Didn’t Isaac need blueberry PopTarts or something?”

“How the fuck do you even remember that?” Stiles said incredulously. He stuck his tongue out at Derek's back when Derek started laughing at him.

**5.**

“Scott, seriously,” Derek sighed in frustration a couple of days later during training, “how many times have I told you, you need to focus. There’s no point of you showing up if you can’t concentrate.”

“I’m just worried about Allison,” Scott let out, defeated. He slumped into a corner as he waited for his bones to heal and his skin to knit back together. The pack was a lot more stable now, everyone sure of their place in the pack and they all accepted that Derek was the alpha and although he wasn’t always right, he did what he thought was best for all of them. Derek, too, had matured from the angry, broken shell of a person he used to be and learnt to take care of his pack and treat them as responsible adults, instead of dumb teenagers.

Derek exhaled slowly and raised his hand up to stop everyone. Stiles looked up from the book of fae law he was studying when the noise stopped and sound of growling and aggressive werewolves ceased and he elbowed Lydia who was… was she watching The Notebook on her iPad?

Seriously, that woman.

Stiles shook his head in disbelief. If she wasn’t such a beautiful, terrifying, conniving mad-scientist-type genius, Stiles would be absolutely appalled in his taste in women. I mean, who watched The Notebook more than 12 times a year? Or, hell, who watched it more than once, _ever_? Stiles felt sorry for Jackson ~~until he remembered that Jackson was a douchebag~~.

“Look, I know I don’t say this often, but I…” Derek cleared his throat, the muscles working as his Adam’s apple bobbed, “look, it’s been a while since Laura died, and after what Kate did to me and my family, I didn’t think I’d have a pack again. I know, the first couple of months, years even, were hard. On all of us. But we worked through it and even now, when there hasn’t been any huge threats in more than a year, you guys still come to training, and you don’t take the fact that you’ve been bitten for more 6, 7 years now, for granted. A couple of weeks ago, Stiles asked me why I didn’t bite anyone anymore. It’s because I don’t need anyone else in the pack.”

He paused for a moment and rubbed the back of his neck, before continuing,

“I guess I just want to say I’m really proud of you guys. You’ve done well.”

The pack was staring at Derek, who didn’t meet any of their eyes, with a mixture of expressions. Shock, disbelief… gratefulness. Stiles even saw Erica surreptitiously wipe away a couple of tears. This was when Stiles knew, it didn’t _matter_ if he was a mom, or a dad, or just himself. He loved Derek, and that’s really all he should care about. He stood up, feeling a wave of nervous excitement wash over him and walked calmly to Derek.

“Hey,” he whispered, tugging on Derek's arm when he refused to meet Stiles’ eyes.

“Hi,” Derek murmured back, even though they both knew everyone in the room, except Lydia, could hear what they were saying.

This is it Stiles. Don’t back out now.

“I was thinking,” Stiles said, his heart suddenly beating double-time and he hesitated.

Derek nudged him gently and gave him a small smile. The betas were unusually silent as they watched them; even Jackson didn’t have a comment and for that, Stiles was grateful.

Grabbing Derek's hands in his, Stiles squeezed them as he took a deep breath.

“I want… I want to get married. I want to get married to you,” he said, and ignored everyone’s (Derek included) sudden inhale, and he nodded, as if to himself, “I love you, and you know that. But I want to make it all official, and I know that doesn’t really matter but I just really want everyone to know, you’re it for me. I want one of those wolf moon mating ceremony ritual things and like a proper wedding, even if it’s just a stupid court thing and I just want to have a damn certificate that says I’d be the only one tapping your ass for the rest of our lives.”

There was an awkward pause and Stiles shuffled on his feet, suddenly uncomfortable with all the stares he was getting.

“See, that _was_ romantic, and then it just became weird and invasive,” Isaac said quietly, the rest of the pack nodding around them.

Stiles flushed, the splash of color high on his cheekbones.

“As if you wouldn’t agree that me being the only one getting to bone his ass _ever_ again is something that needs to be proudly displayed possibly everywhere around the world except for where my dad can see it,” he scoffed, trying to keep his voice steady, even as his heart rate picked up because, hello, he just proposed to Derek.

Oh, shit.

He just _proposed_.

He wasn’t the girl in the relationship.

“Fuck yeah!” he threw his fist in the air, a wide grin splitting across his face, “I’m not the girl!”

Rolling his eyes, Derek's gaze dropped to where their hands were clasped together before looking back at Stiles’ face, both of them ignoring the quizzical looks being shot their way.

“I never even said yes,” he said quietly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and Stiles stuck his tongue out at him.

“S’not like you’re going to say no.”

“Do you have a ring?”

Stiles let go of Derek's hands and crossed his arms across his chest defensively.

“No, but I can get you one if you want.”

“No need,” Derek smirked, pulling a box out of his pocket and Stiles’ mouth went dry, “I came prepared.”

Dimly, Stiles could hear the squeals of the girls in the background but all he could focus on was the little black box sitting innocently in Derek's palm. He could hear Scott calling Allison in the background and he took in a sharp breath as he realized what this meant.

He was getting married.

And not to Lydia, the girl he had been dreaming about since the third grade when she gave him a judgmental once-over and proclaimed he was too smart for her to share her crayons with (instead, she had walked up to Jackson who’d been led around by the balls ever since).

No, that was too fucking easy.

He was getting married to Derek Hale, a guy he had _arrested_ less than ten years ago.

Fucking werewolves, man. They turn your life upside down.

“Still not the girl,” he whispered and Derek honest-to-god _beamed_ at him, and though Stiles would never admit it, he would be gladly be a fucking drag queen if he could get Derek to smile like that for the rest of their lives.

Opening the box, Derek pulled Stiles in close as the pack began crowding around them, trying to get a glimpse at the ring. It was a plain silver band, round and featureless, though if Stiles looked closer he could see little engravings across it. Squinting, he jerked back when he realized that it wasn’t actually engravings, but little nicks and scratches in the metal. They were hardly visible, but he looked up at Derek, and his breath caught in his throat as he had a sudden epiphany.

“Is that…”

“Laura had given it to me for my birthday,” he said quietly, picking it up and placing it in Stiles’ open palm, “I hated it, and it was on my dresser the night of the fire. I found it afterwards, and I could never wear it but after she came back, I just… I couldn’t get rid of it. So I got the worst of the damage cleaned up and had it resized to fit you. I mean, it’s not anything fancy but—“

“No, I love it, Derek, seriously. Thank you,” Stiles said, sliding it on, “It’s perfect.”

Derek smiled shyly at him and murmured,

“I also got another one that looks the same, so you wouldn’t complain about being the girl.”

Stiles flushed, even as he was grinning fit to burst.

“Well, I’m _not_ ,” he protested hotly and Derek's eyes flicked up and down his body before his mouth curved into a wicked smirk.

“I’m aware.”

“Ew!” Scott screeched.

+++

“Seriously, Erica? I don’t care what you wear, why are you bugging me with this, go talk to Derek,” Stiles growled over the phone, before rolling his eyes at Erica’s answer, “no I don’t care what Lydia says either, just… here.”

Handing the phone over to Derek, Stiles curled back onto the bed and pulled the covers over his head.

“You deal with it.”

“Oh my god, Erica,” Derek hissed violently and Stiles jerked back upright, alarmed, “you _do not_ get to wear a freaking Herve Leger bandage dress at my mating ritual.”

Stiles’ eyes widened.

But, oh, it got worse.

“Jesus Christ, _fine_ wear that to court, you’ll probably get arrested for public indecency if they don’t pick you up for being an idiot by matching those stupid spiked Jimmy Choos with it,” Derek's face was crinkled in annoyance and he let out a put-upon sigh, “I’ve _told_ you like a million times, those shoes don’t go with that fucking dress. It’s my wedding, okay, just do what I say. And don’t you dare give me that, Lydia Martin, or I will disinvite the lot of you.”

Huffing angrily, Derek put down the phone, but not before he could stop Stiles from hearing Erica's yell of,

“You’re being a fucking Bridezilla, Derek, chill the fuck out!”

Meeting Stiles’ eyes, Derek crossed his arms across his chest and clenched his jaw self-consciously.

“What?” he bit out.

“You’re a total fashion geek, aren’t you?” Stiles let out, realization dawning on him and Derek narrowed his eyes.

“Problem?”

“No, no,” Stiles laughed, “I think it’s pretty cool. Don’t the betas think it’s a bit strange, though?”

“Erica’s known from the beginning,” Derek said, the defensiveness in his voice ebbing away, “Lydia saw us on a shopping trip once and she’s been part of it ever since.”

“That’s pretty awesome,” Stiles breathed out, just thinking about it.

“You don’t care?”

“Pfft, of course not,” Stiles shrugged, “it’s not as weird as some of the things I do. But hey, is that why you’re so against being the pack mom?”

Derek's face froze into a hilarious expression of someone being caught out.

“It is!” Stiles cackled gleefully, “You’re scared the boys will find out, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek mumbled, the tips of his ears going pink.

“Awww, that is _adorable_ ,” Stiles cooed, patting Derek's shoulder, “so the girls know you’re the pack mom, they were just saying that for the boys’ benefit?”

Derek nodded, defeated and Stiles lost it, laughing his ass off until Derek tackled him and shut him up the best way he knew how.

His life was the _best_.

**+1.**

“Okay, seriously Derek, you have to tell me what’s wrong,” Stiles snapped one afternoon, shutting his laptop and putting it aside.

Because they had decided on a civil union first, the wedding was only a few days and Derek's manpain levels had skyrocketed as the day itself crept closer. It was only four days away now and Stiles was sick of Derek's constant moping.

“Laura’s birthday,” Derek let out quietly.

Stiles froze.

“What?” he said, his voice gentler.

“The wedding date. We’re getting married on Laura’s birthday,” Derek told him, looking up from where he had been staring at the floor.

Laura’s birthday? No, but Laura was born on…

The 3rd of June.

 _Shit_.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed out, getting up and walking closer to Derek, his hands reaching out to him but pausing before they could make contact, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I mean, the date seemed familiar but I couldn’t place _why_ and I figured it was a good omen, holy god I am the _worst_ fiancé!”

At that, Derek looked up sharply.

“No, no it’s not… It’s not _you_ ,” he said, snagging Stiles’ arm and pulling him down onto his lap, “It was a good choice. If she was here she would’ve loved you just for that.”

Derek smiled wryly and hooked his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, staying silent for a brief moment.

“I mean she would’ve loved you even more. You and her are so alike, I’m a bit worried to think about what would’ve happened if you guys had met,” he shuddered and then let out a small, sad laugh, “She would’ve turned 30 and when we were kids, she used to say that by the time she was 30, she would’ve already traveled the world and gotten married _and_ had two kids. I always told her that was impossible, and all she used to do was laugh condescendingly and pat me on the head saying, ‘just wait and see, Der-bear.’, which was the _worst_ nickname. I hated it, but it stuck and whenever people tried to call me by that name she would get furious and say that it was our thing and no one but her was allowed to call me that. I just miss her.”

Stiles was quiet as he let Derek's words sink in and he was surprised to find he had tears in his eyes.

He wasn’t a crier, but lately he couldn’t help it, especially when Derek did little things like tell stories about his childhood, like Stiles was allowed to hear them.

Like he _wanted_ Stiles to know what growing up at the Hale house was like.

Stiles sat there for a moment, contemplating what he was about to do.

It was probably a stupid idea, but…

“Hey, come with me,” he said, getting up and tugging Derek along to the kitchen. Derek looked at him quizzically as Stiles began tossing various ingredients and popcorn (what?) into a picnic basket.

“What are you doing?” Derek finally asked when Stiles opened the freezer door and peered inside thoughtfully before pulling out a tub of rum and raisin ice cream, Derek's favorite, “you hate picnics.”

“I know,” Stiles hummed in contentment, grabbing paper napkins and utensils before looking around the kitchen one last time before turning back to Derek, a satisfied smile spreading across his face, “but you love them. And when I was younger, when I was feeling upset, my mom would get me some curly fries even though she hated them, and we would drive out of town in a random direction until we found somewhere we could stop and eat. When we got there, I wouldn’t be allowed to talk because she said if I did something I wasn’t used to, it’d be easier for me to forget about whatever was making me feel upset, because you’d be focusing too much on doing what you don’t normally do. Does that make sense? I’d be trying so hard to be quiet, that whatever annoyed me or made me sad would be forgotten, even if it was only for a short while. So, we’re going on a picnic, and I want you to tell me how annoying you were as a kid.”

Stiles had been expecting an eye roll, or even angry eyebrows and mouth glaring, but he was surprised to see Derek's expression melt into something softer.

“You know, for someone who thinks he’d do an awful job mothering our kids, you seem to be doing more than fine with me,” Derek told him, his lips curling up into a soft smile.

Stiles could only smile back at him helplessly.

+++

“Do you even know where we are?” Derek hissed, sounding more like his old self after they had been driving for about an hour and a half.

Stiles rolled his eyes and refused to dignify that with an answer.

“Of course you don’t. Why am I not surprised?”

“That’s kind of the point of this, Derek,” Stiles retorted, though there was no real heat behind the words. Derek always got cranky when he was stuck in enclosed spaces for extended periods of time. It made Stiles wonder how the hell he had driven all the way to Beacon Hills from New York in his Camaro.

Derek growled half-heartedly and Stiles cheerfully ignored him as they pulled up into an empty campground.

“C’mon Mr. Grumpy Wolf, out you get,” Stiles sang out, grabbing the picnic basket and stood there for a moment, eyeing the place for the perfect spot.

Finding one he was satisfied with, he spread the red-checkered blanket on the ground (go stereotypes!) and beckoned to Derek.

“Embarrassing stories first and then we can work from there,” Stiles said, plonking himself onto the ground and making himself comfortable before patting the ground next to him, smiling up at Derek.

Derek scowled at him but folded himself down gracefully next to Stiles and took a deep breath.

“Okay, fine. Do you wanna know about the time I dressed up as a reindeer for Halloween or the time Laura convinced me I was going to eat at least one cat during puberty?”

Stiles giggled.

“You dressed up as a reindeer?”

“At least I don’t giggle,” Derek snarked back, which only served to set Stiles off into more hysterics.

Rolling his eyes at Stiles fondly, Derek hooked an arm around Stiles’ waist and drew him in so he was leaning against the bulk of Derek's body. Stiles waved his hand in a gesture to go on as he started quieting down and Derek side-eyed him suspiciously.

“I was 8,” Derek started and then had to shush Stiles when he snorted, “Kirk and Ricky, they were my two eldest brothers, said I had to be Rudolph because I was the youngest, and if I didn’t, Santa wouldn’t bring me any presents this year. They were going to dress up as the other reindeer, they told me.”

“You believed in Santa until you were 8?” Stiles asked gleefully, “This just keeps getting better and better!”

“I…” Derek trailed off, glaring at Stiles defensively even as the start of a blush heated his cheekbones, “didn’t you?”

“No,” Stiles said emphatically, “I found out when I was 5 that Santa had been dieting and grew his hair out and also seemed to have the voice of my mother when he said, ‘Genim, go back to bed, or you won’t get your presents this year.’ and that was that.”

“Your real name is Genim?”

“ _That’s_ what you got from that?”

“I never knew your real name,” Derek said, turning so he could look into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles shrugged self-consciously.

“Well, I figure since you decided to marry me, clearly nothing can scare you away.”

“I don’t believe you,” Derek shook his head in disbelief, “you have literally _zero_ self-esteem.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Stiles said, “continue your reindeer story. Man, I wish I had pictures.”

“Oh, there were millions, and they used to come out _every_ year on Christmas, even though everyone had already seen them,” Derek scowled at the memory and Stiles grinned impishly, “actually, there might be some on my Facebook page? I don’t know, I never used it and I think they put it up on private.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped.

“You have Facebook?” he asked reverently. Derek stared at him, his eyes wide.

“How are we not friends? Now we can get Facebook engaged!” Stiles crowed in glee.

“Oh my _god_.”

Two hours later, they were both laughing as they began packing up amidst the setting sun (shut up, Jackson, it’s romantic) and Stiles had tears streaming out of his eyes.

Once they had everything cleaned up, Derek picked up the basket and looked at Stiles, who walked up to him and bumped their shoulders together.

“You okay?”

Derek nodded and flashed Stiles a quick, dirty smile.

“I could be better though,” he leered, balancing the basket on his hip as he looked at Stiles through his eyelashes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Stiles rolled his eyes and started stripping off his clothes, “let’s do this thing then.”

“Shit, is the romance gone already?” Derek smirked, pulling the door open and dropping the basket carelessly inside.

“Just get your clothes off already, I’m sick of your face.”

Derek stripped off his jacket and his shirt, his smug smile growing impossibly wider when he saw Stiles staring at him from the corner of his eyes and he undid the button of his jeans and slid the zipper down slower than he usually would naturally. Stiles scowled at Derek but he couldn’t help the sound he made when he noticed that Derek had been going commando. His cock jerked, beginning to thicken and he pressed the heel of his hand against the front of his jeans, trying to get alleviate the pressure.

Derek rolled his eyes and pulled him towards the car before tugging his jeans down around him and dropping to his knees.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles gasped as Derek began nuzzling at his rapidly hardening cock through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. He twisted his fingers into Derek's hair and tugged him upwards.

He curled his hand around the back of Derek's neck and kissed him, his moving in perfect sync with Derek's. Derek was content to let Stiles take control of the kiss, his own mouth moving softly while Stiles slid his tongue inside his mouth, giving him room to suck Derek’s bottom lip between his teeth and bite down.

Pulling away on a gasp, Derek shook his head.

“Not right now Stiles, I just wanna blow you.”

Stiles groaned and let him go, watching with blown pupils as Derek pulled his underwear down past his thighs impatiently, sucking Stiles down to the hilt.

“How does this feel so good every time?” Stiles groaned, his hips arching up of their own accord when Derek hummed around his dick, feeling the vibrations in his toes. Derek hollowed his cheeks out and pulled back to suck gently at the head, licking at the sensitive spot underneath and Stiles could feel his toes beginning to curl as heat pooled at the base of his spine. He was getting louder with each wet, shivery-good second and he couldn’t stop the orgasm that was hurtling towards him.

“Derek,” he panted, pulling again at Derek's hair, “don’t ask my why but, _holy Jesus_ , I’m like a second away from coming. _Fuck_ , seriously Derek, you need to—“

Stiles cut himself off with a loud moan when Derek pushed his throat around Stiles’ dick and swallowed around his cock, wrenching his orgasm from him with a soul-destroying cry.

“Sorry,” he said weakly and Derek shook his head, getting up so he could rub against the sweaty and slightly bruised groove of Stiles’ hip. He reached down to lend a hand (so to speak) but Derek batted it out of the way with a growl. Cupping Derek's jaw instead, Stiles pressed a few kisses to his mouth before biting along his jaw. Stiles could feel Derek rumbling where their chests were pressed together and he sucked sharply on the sensitive spot underneath his ear, grinning as Derek howled and his hips jerked, coming in warm stripes across Stiles’ torso.

They sank to the ground slowly and lay on the ground, trying to catch their breath.

“Hey,” Derek murmured, turning on his side to look at Stiles.

“Hi,” Stiles whispered back, nearly panting. Derek smirked and Stiles punched his shoulder weakly, attempting to roll his eyes and then abandoning the effort halfway through.

“I’m glad we decided to get married,” Derek admitted, reaching out to brush a hand through Stiles’ sweaty hairline, “after Kate, I didn’t think I would find a mate, but I’m glad I did and I’m glad it’s you.”

“Well,” Stiles said, grinning up at Derek, “I _am_ pretty awesome.”

Derek flashed his fangs at him.

“You do alright.”

“I’m glad we got past the slamming-my-head-into-my-steering-wheel incident,” he drawled and Derek let out a little laugh.

“I’m sure I’ve made it up to you more than enough times in this piece of junk,” he said, kicking out at the wheel of the jeep.

“ _She_ is not a piece of junk,” Stiles said, rolling up on top of Derek and staring down at him, “She is a beautiful bundle of perfection that I will love unconditionally, no matter how many times she stalls and/or blows out her engine on me.”

“If you could love our kids half as much as you love your car, you would make a great mother,” Derek said dryly and Stiles smiled, reaching down to kiss Derek.

“If they’re yours, I’d give them all the love in the world.”

**Epilogue:**

**5 years later**

“ _Daaaaddy_.”

“What is it, Luna?” Stiles sighed, turning around from where he had been making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for her play date.

“I need you to braid my hair,” she said, shuffling her feet together and looking at him from under her eyelashes innocently, “Maria made fun of me because I was only in pigtails and her mommy made her a braid.”

“Oh, honey,” Stiles crouched down so she could come over and bury her face in his shoulder, “you shouldn’t care what other people say about you. I don’t know how but I’m sure your papa can do it.”

“Papa always does my hair, I want you to do it,” she said, pulling back and clutching her dress in her chubby little fists and Stiles had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’ll call him and he can teach me,” he consoled her, standing up to smooth her hair and remove her dress from her grip, “Derek?”

No sooner than he had said it, Derek walked into the kitchen, straightening his tie and Stiles’ breath caught as the light filtering into the windows reflected off the silver band on his finger.

Stiles wondered if that would ever stop taking his breath away. He hoped not.

“Hi,” he said quietly and Derek leant in to peck him on the cheek.

“Hey,” he replied, just as softly before leaning down to pick Lunaup, “Hi princess.”

She giggled, and the sound was so much like Stiles’ own laugh Derek felt his heart warming.

“Hi papa,” she said sweetly, kissing him on his forehead, his nose and both his eyes, “can you teach daddy how to braid my hair?”

“Can he even braid hair?” Stiles muttered, annoyed that he hadn’t even gotten a kiss. Seriously, his child needed to learn priorities. He made her food; Derek just dressed her and did her hair. Food is more important than fashion, _always_ , no matter what anyone ~~(*cough, cough* Lydia, Erica, Derek *cough, cough*)~~ said.

“Of course I can, I’m a good parent,” Derek teased and Stiles scoffed at him.

“I cook!” he protested hotly, even as they sank onto the floor and Derek took Luna’s brush out of his pocket (who even kept hairbrushes in their pocket? Seriously, Derek, you weirdo) and started brushing through her hair.

“You make sandwiches,” he said, taking Stiles’ hands in his and setting it to her hair, starting to braid it together, “that’s not cooking.”

“Okay _mommy_ ,” Stiles snarked and Derek snorted.

“I can’t be the mom, how do you think we got Luna?” he smirked and Stiles gasped, making an aborted move to cover Luna’s ears.

“Surrogate, _obviously_ ,” Stiles hissed angrily, glaring when Derek just looked even more amused.

“Well, we did try about a million times ourselves and if I remember correctly, you always insisted that you wanted to be the _mommy_ ,” Derek emphasized the word, full-on laughing when Stiles stared at him, horrified that he would even bring that up in front of a 3 year-old.

They stared at each other for a long moment until Luna giggled, and they looked down at her forgotten hair.

“I can have a boy mommy,” she smiled toothily at them and Stiles melted.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and shot one final glare at Derek.

“Of course you can, sweetheart. You can have whatever you want,” he said, standing up and putting a bow at the end of her hair when they finished doing it up, “see? We even did a braid for you!”

She turned around to them, her wide amber eyes sparkling as she threw her arms around them.

“Thank you,” she sang out, before rushing off to her room to grab her toys.

“You’re an ass,” Stiles said, poking Derek's chest with a finger and frowning at how fucking built he still was, even at 34.

“Yeah, but I’m your ass,” Derek said cheekily, reaching over and squeezing the flesh in question.

“I regret you everyday,” Stiles sighed, before reeling Derek in and kissing the smirk off his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be friends with me on [tumblr](http://officerstilinskihale.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I also take random prompts, just by the way, so if you want anything written down, just message me and stuff. Anything over 1500 words gets posted here on AO3 but anything under that is posted as a drabble on my tumblr. See you there!


End file.
